"Dixon, Franklin W - Hardy Boys 037 - The Ghost At Skeleton Rock (Original)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dixon Franklin W)

Frank gulped with panic. Would they crash? Trying hard to keep cool, he eased
back on the wheel. With barely a split second to go, the ship nosed upward and
cleared the wires!
Moments later, the plane's wheels touched down in a perfect landing and the
craft rolled to a stop. Frank climbed out after the others, feeling a bit weak.
"Quick thinking, boy!" Joe slapped his brother on the back. "Only next time,
please don't shave it so close!"
Frank heaved a sigh. "I didn't think—I just acted! How come you didn't take
over, Jack?"
"I figured you'd do the right thing"—the pilot chuckled—"and you did!" Suddenly
his face clouded and he snapped his fingers. "I clean forgot to tell you!"
"What?" the boys chorused.
"A message your father gave me just before I took off from San Juan." Early that
morning Jack had returned after flying Mr. Hardy to Puerto Rico the previous day
on a top-secret case. "Sorry. Giving flying lessons must make me absent-minded."
He handed the boys a piece of paper.
" 'Find Hugo purple turban/ " Frank and Joe read aloud. They stared at the
paper, completely baffled by the cryptic message.
Jack went on to explain that Mr. Hardy had quickly jotted down the strange
words, then handed the paper to him. "He did say," Jack added, "that he couldn't
give any more details right then. He'd spotted a man he wanted to shadow."
The boys racked their brains for a moment in silence. Neither could think of
anyone in Bayport named Hugo.
"Oh, well," Frank said, smiling, "we'll try to figure it out later. Thanks for
the flying lesson, Jack."
After arranging for their next flight, the boys went to the parking lot, where
they had left their convertible.
"I'll drive," said Frank. In a few minutes the boys were headed toward their
pleasant, tree-shaded home at Elm and High streets.
The dazzling June sun shone down on them as they talked over the odd message
Jack had relayed.
"We'll have to twirl our brains for this one," Joe commented as they pulled into
the Hardys' gravel driveway. "I wonder who Hugo is. Someone in Bayport, maybe?"
"Let's try the phone book," Frank suggested. "Hugo could be someone's last
name."
As the boys strode in through the kitchen door, their mother was trimming the
crust on an apple pie. Each son gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then Frank
said, "We're trying to figure out a code message from Dad. Have you any idea who
'Hugo purple turban' might be?"
Mrs. Hardy, slim and pretty, shook her head as she slid the pie into the oven.
"Not the faintest, but it sounds like the start of another interesting case."
Her husband, Fenton Hardy, had been a crack detective for years in the New York
City Police Department. Later, when he retired and moved to the coastal town of
Bayport, Mr. Hardy had become internationally famous as a private investigator.
His two sons had skillfully assisted him on many of his cases.
Frank, intrigued by his father's newest assignment, hurried to the telephone
book, Joe at his heels, and leafed through the pages of names beginning with H.
"Let's see now." Frank moistened his finger. "Hugo . . . Hugo . . . Here we are!
Just three of them," he added after a moment. "It should be simple to find the
right man."